Saturday, April 30, 2016

Being the parent of a child, even though that child is an adult, has a
lot of baggage. The fact that the child was abused psychologically and verbally
by a father takes its toll. Further compound that issue with a physically
abusive partner, well, hope feels as though it is always at the moment of
flying out the window.

The abuse is always about the abuser. The chances are high that the
abuser was abused himself. This is true in this case, for both of them.

But the costs of abuse are high. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is an
anxiety disorder caused by witnessing or being a victim of violence. That
violence can be a one time thing. Or it can be something that happened over a
period of time, short or long. Violence that happens over a long period of time
can manifest itself in Acute Stress Disorder.

Alcohol and drugs are often used to self-medicate. These are not the
problem. These are simply a reaction to the problem.

Even with professional help identifying the triggers that cause the panic attacks or
nightmares or insomnia or any of the other symptoms of PTSD, the road to
recovery is long. Add to that nightmare addiction. The road becomes even more
difficult.

What does it say about society…or a parent…who is able to recognize a
drug problem before recognizing the source of an anxiety disorder?

What does it say about a mother who is unable to have seen the damage
done by an alcoholic father while she could see the damage being done to
herself?

What does it say about a mother who could see that something was wrong
but couldn’t imagine that her young adult child was being beaten to the point
of having broken bones?

What does it say about a mother who was willing to blame the victim when
she couldn’t get her life together for her own little boy?

It took me twenty five-plus years to understand the full extent of what
damage the term “Goddammit, A!” did to a young teenage girl. It took me that
long to understand the full effect of the physical damage done by my child’s
partner. She laughed one time when she told me she thought it was a part of her
name. It wasn’t funny. It has taken me a little bit longer than that to realize
that drugs were not the main problem.

But I have lived with the fear of the drugs and the unpredictable
behavior for so long that the first thing I do at a sign that points to the
past is to react in fear.

When a child who has been diagnosed with acute PTSD and has used drugs
to self medicate, even though that adult child has been through rehab,
counseling, and is involved in a 12 step program and appears to be mending…when
something happens, I panic.

It was a simple thing of not having heard from her in a few days. I had
not even thought about it until I had a dream about her. Then, the next
morning, texting to say “hey, all things ok?” and no response. In the
afternoon, calling, the phone went immediately to voicemail. Fear gripped my
heart. Worry that here we go again. Prayers to God asking why why why and then
please please please.

It goes against my nature to confront my fear with reality. Reality can
be even more frightening than my imagination. A simple thing would have been to
go to her apartment to see if she was there.

Thank God I have a pragmatic spouse who is nothing if not always willing
to grab the bull by the horns and wrestle it out of the way. We had to go out
anyway and before I knew it, we were turning down the street where she lives.
My beloved simply asked, “Do you want me to walk up there or do you want to?” Meaning,
one of us was going to find out if she was ok or not.

Uncharacteristically, I said I would do it. Meaning, I would face my
fear and knock on the door all by my big girl self.

From behind the door, I heard the exclamation, Mom! The door burst open
and there she stood, looking well and alive and unencumbered by all things that
clouded my mind. She grabbed me up in a big hug and said, “I am so sorry! I
know you were worried!” Her phone had been stolen out of her pocket as she
stood on the bus.

I was limp with relief. But that too familiar fear had gripped me so
tightly that it took its toll and left me with my own form of hangover for a
couple of days.

I don’t suppose that I will ever get over the fear. All I can do is
muddle through it and watch and wait and offer love. And pray, of course.
Because without God, I know I would not have made it through this. Without God,
I am sure she would not have made it either.

There are lots of questions in this story that have answers but the main
thing is that abuse is cyclical. I think of the disciples asking Jesus when did
they not feed him and he answered, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it
to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” (Matthew 25:45) It’s
all about paying attention to things outside of our own interior selves
regardless of the claw-like grip these may have on us.

My own concern for survival in the past caused me to miss big clues that
damage might be done. My own worries about self blinded me to what was
happening to a beautiful little girl. My own need to live a life of isolation
allowed me to set aside speculation…until the ignorance veil was parted and I
was able to see a glimpse into reality. But even then, my concern was
misdirected – directed at the effect and not the cause.

Abuse is caused by stressors that the abuser cannot control.
Abuse is a learned behavior that sometimes is directed at others; sometimes it
is directed at self. Either way, it is dangerous.

I guess the point in mentioning that scripture is that too
often we are unwilling to reach out and ask, hey…what’s going on and can I
help. We might not get a response at that moment but if we continue to be seen
as one who is willing to listen, maybe it can open a door to freedom from
whatever is tormenting someone.

We have the choice as to whether or not we are willing to
‘do unto others’. But it seems to me if we want to stop being abusers, stop
being abused, stop the abuse then we have to be open to seeing the causes rather
than the effects. And that is not very easy. The effects are so blatantly in
our faces – addictions, crime, homelessness, violence.

That doesn’t mean we stop offering band aids when there is
blood, but the cause of the bleeding has to be found. We do have to begin to
see that there is a bigger problem beneath or behind the problems that we can
see.

It isn’t just a simple matter of bad people doing bad
things. Sometimes very good people do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. It
is a matter of the ways we find to cope with life.

About Me

I know you know

that everything in this blog is authored or photographed by me (except where noted) and that it is placed on this blog to share with all who will read it. If you want to share, please do so; however, since this is my own writing and pictures, please let it be known that it is mine. I knew you already knew that...but I was told I needed to put it in writing...so here it is!

On another note:

Everything written here is my opinion. It does not reflect the views of any establishment for whom I work, volunteer or paid. It is mine and mine alone.